


Espionage on the Orient Express

by keysburg



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Card Games, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fake Marriage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Intelligence Gathering, Mission Fic, Napoleon Solo Ships Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller, Sharing a Bed, Strategy & Tactics, Trains, being a spy is hard, gaby teller is a really good spy, napoleon has trust issues, napoleon is not really good at comfort but he tries, too much caffeine, trains and spies go together like peanut butter and jelly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysburg/pseuds/keysburg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Istanbul, our UNCLE team gets rushed aboard the Orient Express.  Their mission is to identify and turn two marks for their own good... before the train reaches its final destination.  It would be easier if Napoleon could work alone, or if he didn't have to share a room with someone he still doesn't quite trust...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1 - Departure from Istanbul

Something was amiss. Napoleon had learned over the years to listen when his instincts spoke, so he scanned his surroundings carefully. It wasn’t readily apparent what might be wrong. His luggage was stowed neatly next to Gaby’s, in the built in closet on one wall of their sleeper compartment. Even he had to admit their accommodations were more than adequate. Gaby might not agree since it only had one bed, but it _was_ a king. The nice part about traveling by train was that weapons were easy to smuggle aboard; his gun was stashed exactly where Waverly said it would be. There was an additional handgun with it--by its petite size, likely intended for Gaby. That was probably a good idea; she had showed herself more than capable with a handgun here in Istanbul. 

He did a bug sweep and only found those of Illya’s still left in his and Gaby’s things. So, the man hadn’t yet managed to bug the sleeper. If Napoleon hurried, he could probably get over and bug Peril’s room himself before the man got on board the train. On the way to the other room, he realized what hadn’t felt quite right. He had liked seeing Gaby’s things with his; that was a discomforting notion indeed, given his history with treacherous brunettes. He had already ended up in the hands of a sadist once, thanks to her. Not that he held Gaby responsible for that; it was only good spycraft on her part. He could appreciate that and might even find it comforting, if he knew where her loyalties lay. Peril at least demonstrated some loyalty to their little team over the KGB. Napoleon took a big risk when he assumed the Russian wouldn’t kill him over the computer disk, and that was before they officially became a team. Gaby’s allegiance had not been tested and might yet lie with British Intelligence and not their little international alliance. One of the reasons he preferred to work alone was because if you assumed everyone else was against you, being wrong was unlikely to kill you.

By the time he was back from Illya’s sleeping space, Gaby was in theirs and putting her things away. She finished up in short order and sat in the one chair bolted by the window, wincing as she did. They had stayed out in the sun a bit too long for her pale skin and she had a bit of sunburn peeking out from under her top.

“Not going to put away my things too, dear?” Napoleon smirked at her. She rolled her eyes at him.

“I know you like all your belongings just so, _darling_. I’d hate to crease something and listen to you fuss later.” The English accent she was practicing lately was spot-on. It made him wonder how much time she had been spending with Waverly. Napoleon shrugged and started hanging his things next to hers in the small closet.

“You’re going to hear it anyway if you don’t let me put something on that sunburn. I have a lotion here somewhere that should help.”

“I think a vodka might help more,” she said. 

“English ladies do not drink vodka, at least not straight. But we’ll visit the bar car for something appropriate as soon as we depart. No reason not to do both, though,” he said, digging through his toiletries kit until he came up with the bottle he was looking for. She hesitated when he turned to her with it, but after a moment she got up and pulled the window shade. She turned her back to him and then peeled up her shirt carefully. He had to wince as she did so; her sunburn was worse than he thought. It probably wouldn’t blister but it was a near-miss, her neck, shoulders and upper back lobster-red. He applied the lotion with his fingertips, as gently as he could.

“Pretty close quarters in here,” he observed as he did. While richly appointed, most of the room of their compartment was taken up by the bed and the small private bath between the bed and the corridor. There was room to enter from the door and access either the bath or closets, plus a little more space by the bed. There was a small table that would fold down from the wall at the foot of the bed, but with only one chair; any additional occupants would have to sit on the bed to use it. 

“It’s worth it for the private bath,” she said. “Illya won’t like that we’re sharing a bed, but I know you’ll keep your hands to yourself unless it’s for the mission, or you’re otherwise invited.”

“Oh, you do?” he asked. “How, exactly? After all, I already have my hands all over you.” He capped the lotion and ducked into the bath to stow it along with his other toiletries. Thus her answer was a bit muffled but clear enough. 

“I know you like to pretend otherwise, but professionalism is important to you. After all, getting distracted might mean you lose your reputation as ‘CIA’s most effective.’” He went back out to find her re-opening the window shade, the whistle marking the train’s imminent departure. 

“You’ve been reading my file, but I can tell you now, not everything in there is true. Maybe you’re just not my type. Or maybe I just don’t want my face smashed in by an angry Russian.” For a woman he had been trying to insult, she looked entirely too satisfied with herself.

“Everyone’s your type, as long as they’re willing. And his hands were shaking a little when Waverly said you and I were to play married this time, yes? I thought I may have imagined it.” For someone who was disturbingly perceptive where Napoleon was involved, Gaby seemed awfully unsure of herself around the Russian. And Illya was just as bad as she was, when it came right down to it. Inexperience, he presumed. Gaby was still rather young and from what he gathered, Peril’s life with the KGB hadn’t exactly left time for romance. They hadn’t actually spent that much time together here in Istanbul. If he had to spend the next three days watching them dance around with each other like they had in Rome, he might just lock them in Illya’s tiny sleeper until they got it over with; they were driving him crazy. The train gave a little lurch; the brakes disengaged. 

“Yes, I did wonder if he was about to flip another table. And it’s not that I’m not fond of you, dear, but I do prefer more flexibility to operate than I believe our cover will allow. I’m still not sure if it wasn’t a mistake not to let you two reprise your couples act.” She was staring in the closet now, so he sat in the chair, just in time to catch sight of Illya finally climbing aboard the train. He had caught it awfully close.

“You know why, Solo,” she said, ducking into the bath. She didn’t quite close the accordion door so that he could still hear her while she changed. “Our mission is to turn a married couple, to convince them to work with UNCLE. It might not be sexual but it’s still a seduction, of sorts. Illya doesn’t have your way with words or the subtlety to convince not one but two people to work with us. If they need to be beaten into submission, we can call him in. Otherwise, it’s down to you and me.”

“I don’t think you or Waverly give Peril enough credit. He wouldn’t be so highly regarded in the KGB if he couldn’t do subtle. While we’re speaking of the mission, you really should be calling me by cover name, Ellie dear.” Out the window, the station started to drift slowly past. “Ah, but here we go. Let’s get you that drink, and get to know our traveling companions.”

“I’m ready, Ford darling,” she said, emerging from the bath dressed for dinner.

The lounge car was furnished entirely in low couches and chairs upholstered in a rich blue. The seats were deep enough to encourage reclining, the arms and backs low enough to facilitate conversation with neighbors. Crystal panels along the walls were lit from behind, which would create a soft and flattering glow once the sun set. It was pretty much the perfect environment for their task, and as Napoleon selected a couch in the center (the better to hear most conversations in the room), he was careful not to look too closely where Peril was sitting in the far corner (where he could see the entire room and watch every interaction). 

To turn two people in under three days was difficult enough, but their task was made more difficult by the fact that they didn’t know exactly who they were supposed to turn. It turned out that those responsible for the Istanbul Affair was just a single cell of a larger organization. Who or what this organization represented was still unknown, but Istanbul proved their aims unfriendly. So when they discovered a microdot on an enemy agent that contained a list of targets for recruitment, Waverly determined they couldn’t sit on the information until more was discovered. Among others listed were chemical experts, microbiologists, and inventors. They were also very paranoid because the intel had apparently been split into two parts. The microdot they found listed skills and travel plans, the other presumably descriptions and names. Waverly had techs combing all of Istanbul for the other microdot, but it might never be found--it might not even be in Istanbul anymore. So what they had was a married couple, both engineers, would be travelling on this train to Calais. They assumed that the organization targeting people would make their move there. 

Still, it should be easy enough to find such an unusual pair. To gather sufficient enough intel on them while on a train to turn them would be more difficult. Recruitment was all about knowing your mark and was rarely attempted without in depth research. Choosing appropriate covers under these conditions was nearly impossible. Thus, Napoleon would stick with his generalized Continental accent and Gaby would pretend to be recovering from a sore throat until the targets were identified. That way she could tailor her backstory somewhat to the targets. She had suggested this approach, which was equally impressive and terrifying. 

The attendant was with them before they had settled in, and Napoleon asked for a whiskey neat and a Bloody Mary for his dear Ellie. She quirked an eyebrow at this, and he took advantage of her silence to lecture her on how the vitamins in the lemon and tomato juice would help her kick her illness once and for good. She sipped it carefully when it arrived but nodded in approval.  
A few men traveling alone filtered into the car. One was a salesman of some sort who went around pestering everyone there. Thin and pale, with a wispy brown mustache, the man had a decidedly unsavory air. Napoleon moved him along by turning to Gaby. 

“Do we have money in the budget for that, dear?” She shook her head and turned a gimlet eye on the man, who quickly moved on to what he thought were greener pastures. And then to Illya, who not only declined to speak to the man but refused to acknowledge his presence at all. Napoleon was pretty amused watching the man speak at his teammate; he may as well have been speaking to a tree. But then couples began to filter into the car and mingle, and he had to turn his attention to the hunt. 

Before long, he had it narrowed down to three couples. Annette and Dean lived in Calais and were ending a month long tour of the East. Roberta and Mark lived in Edinburgh and were returning from a visit to family stationed in Istanbul; Roberta’s voice so soft, he didn’t quite catch which relation was in the army. Reginald and Bridgette were Londoners, likewise returning from vacation. These were the only married couples aboard the train traveling to Calais other than Ellie and Ford Donahue, their cover identities. Napoleon was pretty sure Reginald and Bridgette were too old, being in their sixties. He liked Dean for a possible mark. The man was obviously intelligent if a bit loud and egotistical, but he could work with that. He was flattering the man and about to invite the couple to join them for dinner when Peril gave him a signal. He excused himself and drifted in that direction.

“Ones from Scotland, Braithwaites,” Illya muttered. Napoleon pretended to admire the sunset out the window nearest the Russian.

“Are you quite sure?” he asked softly, his drink in front of his mouth. Roberta and Mark had tucked themselves in a corner, watching the crowd in the bar car more than participating. They had said the least of anyone, making it hard to get a good read on them. They seemed more like wallflowers than snobs though, happy enough to speak when others spoke to them. “If you’re wrong, it’s going to waste precious time.”

“I am sure, Cowboy.” He had that tone of voice that brooked no argument. Suppressing a little sigh, Napoleon turned from the window to catch Gaby’s eye. He gave the prearranged signal (fiddling with the buttons on his vest) and looked meaningfully at the couple in question. She was over there in a heartbeat. He turned back to the window, bringing his glass up to cover his mouth again.

“Any special insights, Peril?”

“Just…” the man hesitated, as if searching for the words. “Try not to be yourself.” Napoleon rolled his eyes at that, and went to join his Ellie.

“Ford dear,” Gaby’s English accent was back, now somehow sounding--mucusy--as if she really was getting over a cold. The woman was too talented for her own good. “Did you meet Roberta and Mark? They are both professors at Edinburgh. I had to tell Roberta how much I was admiring her blouse. Can you believe she embroidered it herself?” He eyed the handiwork. It did look handmade, but was quite tidy.

“You know I’m no judge of ladies’ clothing, dear. I wish you would take up such a suitable hobby, though.” Instead of putting any reproach into his voice, Napoleon said this with as much kindness and admiration as he could muster--university instructors being unlikely to appreciate such a sentiment. “Ellie” rolled her eyes at him regardless.

“Ford does not appreciate my hobbies,” she said to Roberta, sotto voce. “I’m afraid I’m always taking things apart to see how they work. Although he didn’t complain when I fixed his watch.” Roberta gave her a conspiratorial smile.

“I’ve always been fascinated with how things worked as well. In fact, the embroidery is just a hobby I picked up so my hands have something to do while my mind works through a problem.”

“Ooh, like what?” Gaby asked, leaning forward slightly. Just then, the bell rang, announcing dinner service was beginning. Roberta was blushing, but the bell brought her up short, and she looked at Mark. Before she could speak, Napoleon interjected.

“We would be so pleased if the two of you would join us for dinner,” he said. 

He found out over dinner exactly what Illya had meant about not being himself. The Braithwaites could not be more different from him. They had nothing to say on his conversational forays about art or music and didn’t notice when he ordered the train’s most expensive champagne to go with dinner. Gaby was better prepared and before long was nattering with Roberta about the different resistance of various types of wiring, and which might be most suitable for automotive uses. From there, they went on to something about the conductivity of different gases and how that knowledge might be applied to make more efficient headlights. He only followed about half of it and found himself nursing a headache along with his port after dinner. Fortunately, Mark was good mannered and good natured enough to offer him a smoke, and they excused themselves.

“You will forgive Roberta,” he said. “Poor dear doesn’t often find women capable of holding a conversation about electrical engineering, outside of the University. This is quite a treat.”

“It is for Ellie too, I’m sure you can tell,” Napoleon replied. “At least Roberta has you to converse with, I’m afraid I’m quite out of my depth sometimes when it comes to indulging Ellie in her more intellectual pursuits.” He wasn’t even lying. 

“Yes, you did seem a bit bored. How did you two meet, anyway?” Napoleon’s first instinct was to bristle but the man didn’t seem to mean anything by it.

“When I was in service. She was actually working at Bletchley as a code breaker, so I can’t say I didn’t know what I was getting into.” He smiled, and thought fond thoughts of the night he and Gaby escaped East Berlin, knowing it would show on his face. 

“Was?” Mark asked. Napoleon nodded. 

“We both left the service at the same time, just before we married. It turned out neither of us quite liked taking orders, particularly when they ended up keeping us apart.” That was good--politically neutral--an opening for Mark to share an opinion and Napoleon to agree with him. Unfortunately, the man declined to do so.

“Hmm, well, I do believe our girls might be inseparable for the rest of the trip.” The man smiled fondly, like he was thinking of something very happy, and that left Napoleon casting around for a new conversational topic. 

“Do you get out of Edinburgh much?” Napoleon asked. 

“No, it seems one of us always ends up teaching summer semester somehow. This is the first proper vacation we’ve had in about three years. But we do go back home to visit my parents on our breaks. They live down in Coberley.”

“Oh the Cotswolds, lovely! I’ve had the fortune to spend quite a bit of time up there.” Finally, something in common with the man. Napoleon had him on about hunting in no time. Before he knew it, Roberta came to retrieve her husband.

“Can you gentlemen continue this conversation over breakfast? I’m quite sleepy.”

“But dearest, it’s only…” Mark squinted at his watch. “No, 4:14 PM does not seem right.”

“Oh, is your watch broken?” Napoleon asked. “I bet Ellie wouldn’t mind having a look at that, if you wanted.” 

When the Braithwaites headed back to their sleeper car, Napoleon and Gaby did the same. It was strangely intimate as they got ready for bed, even never having shared a room before. Gaby came out of the bathroom in the modest pajamas he had picked out for her in Berlin, and let him lotion her sunburn up again before flopping down in the chair with a book. When he emerged from the bathroom she didn’t even look up, and he flopped down on the bed in his robe, slippers, pajama pants and all. They were supposed to wait until most people were asleep and then Illya would join them for some secret plotting. Unfortunately long days and the rhythm of the train on the rails got to him, and he was asleep before he knew it.

When he woke up, Illya was glaring down at him on the bed.

“Cowboy.” The Russian grumbled. “I didn’t think I’d find you lying down on job.”

“There’s no job when the marks are asleep, Peril,” he replied. “But while you’re here, please tell me how you knew the Braithwaites were our marks?”

“Something I observed on train platform. Woman, Annette, managed to tip over their luggage cart. Roberta had porter stack everything just so.” Napoleon scoffed.

“Hardly solid evidence, Peril.”

“Was I right, Cowboy?” Napoleon had enough of the Russian looking down at him--literally--and rolled into a sitting position. Gaby was still sitting in the chair, reading. She stopped to hand Illya Mark’s watch.

“Solo told Mark I’d fix his watch, for some reason,” she said. “Can you do anything with it, Illya?”

“You were the one who was bragging about your technical skills, Ellie dear,” Napoleon said, standing and snatching it from her hand before Illya could reach for it. He ducked into the bath and dug up a small case. “Up, I need to sit in the chair.” She got up and stretched out on the bed, on her back. He went to pull the table down but was blocked by the Russian mountain standing by the foot of the bed. “You need to sit or you need to move, Peril.” He sat on the edge of the bed, carefully not looking at Gaby where she lay next to him. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes at them, but instead he pulled down the table and opened the case. He took out a little flashlight with it’s own stand, unfolding and turning it on, and then he pried open the watch case.

“Watch is too small for bug,” Illya said, leaning in to look at what Napoleon was doing. Ah-ha, as he had thought. One of the little springs was fatigued. He replaced it, and dug around in his case for something else.

“While it’s true there’s no room inside the body of the watch, I do have some tricks up my sleeve, Peril.” He took out a selection of watch backs. They were a good deal thicker than the one he had removed, bugs already imbedded.

“He will notice,” Peril observed. Napoleon shrugged. 

“Gaby can tell him something about the old one being corroded. It will be fine, it’s not engraved or anything. Worst case scenario, he drops it in the trash. It’s worth a try.” Fortunately the watch was a standard size and he had one that fit. When he looked up again, Peril was staring at his own watch. “Yours however, is engraved. I’ll also remind you when I gave it back to you, I thought we were parting ways and had no reason to try and bug you.” He wrote down the frequency the bug would transmit at on a small slip of paper and handed it to the Russian. “Now you can listen from your room, instead of glowering at everyone having a good time in the bar car.”

“This room is unseemly,” Illya grumbled suddenly. “Honeymoon sleeper. I can’t believe Waverly got you car with only one bed. Gaby should sleep in my quarters. I can stay here.”

“I’m not getting up at the break of dawn to sneak back in here,” she said. 

“As much as it delights me to know you treasure my company, it could blow her cover,” Napoleon said, packing his tools away. “It’s not worth the risk. Just get your mind out of the gutter.”

“If anyone is gutter brain, is you, Cowboy!” Illya’s voice was getting louder, and Napoleon stood up just in time to dodge Gaby’s book as it bounced off the other man’s shoulder. Peril turned to glare at Gaby, although his anger faded considerably as he looked at her.

“The walls are thin, Illya. You can’t be waking the neighbors. If Napoleon misbehaves, then you can throttle him. And we’re supposed to be talking about the best way to approach our marks. Stay on task,” she said.

“I see how it is,” Illya muttered. “You room with me, I get hit. You room with Cowboy, I get hit.” Was Illya really that jealous he was rooming with Gaby? Time to get back on track, so he could go to bed. 

“I don’t think money will work,” Napoleon said. “I think Mark’s family has a little bit of money, and neither of them seem to really appreciate the finer things anyway.”

“They both seem really happy,” Gaby said, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “It makes any approach difficult if your targets don’t want something.”

“Appeal to their sense of patriotism?” Illya suggested. He would think of that.

“Academics can have some…interesting political associations. And they’re Englishmen living in a country that was annexed by theirs. We’ll have to scope their allegiances first.” Napoleon pointed out. 

“But since UNCLE is a multinational operation, we might be able to play the greater good angle.” Gaby said slowly. It took everything Napoleon had not to roll his eyes at his two partners. 

“Not everyone can be motivated to put their lives in danger for the ‘greater good’, comrades,” he said. “And I gave Mark an opening already and he avoided the topic.”

“Do you have better idea, Cowboy?” 

“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

They finally got Illya out of their room when he had to go check in with Waverly. He set up an arrangement with the night engineer where Peril could go up to the engine and use the radio phone to provide updates. He settled down with Gaby--a reasonable distance from him--in the big bed, expecting the train’s rhythm would knock him out again in no time. It didn’t work out that way. Every time he was about to drift off, he was awoken by Gaby turning over. She was careful not to touch him, but the movement of the mattress was just frequent enough to disturb him. It was already quite late, so after the fourth or fifth time he felt compelled to speak up. 

“Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable?” At that there was a large sigh and a considerable amount of movement, so that when he opened his eyes he saw her with the blankets thrown off, lying with her limbs akimbo. It was pretty dark in their car, but enough light leaked in from the corridor that he could see her relative position, if not her expression.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. Sometimes I just have trouble falling asleep.”

“And how do you deal with it normally?”

“Vodka. But Roberta and Mark were light drinkers.” He rolled onto his side to look at her more closely.

“I’m sure there’s something we can do.” He kept his tone light, trying not to make it sound suggestive for once. There was a hesitation and he sighed, rolling onto his back again, throwing his arms up. “This isn’t getting either of us to sleep.”

“I just don’t want you take it the wrong way, is all.” She pulled the blankets back over her then, and slid over to his side of the bed. Her head went on his chest and her arm around his waist. He was only wearing pajama pants so he could feel the cool skin of her face and hand as well as soft pajamas and the fit body inside them. He brought his arms back down, wrapping his right one around her, and resting his palm at her waist. When he made no further move after a minute, she finally started to relax. Napoleon suspected this might be a way of appearing vulnerable and manipulating him into trusting her, but he didn’t think on it much. The motion of the train and the deep breathing Gaby had finally adopted lulled him back to sleep before he knew it.


	2. Day 2 - Via Sofia and Belgrade

When the alarm went off, Napoleon woke to find himself laying on his side, facing Gaby. She was curled in a ball against him, her head tucked under his arm and her legs pulled up between their bodies. He got an elbow in his ribs when she rolled over, pulling the blankets over her head. He was pretty sure it was unintentional; she didn’t really seem awake. He had a quiet word with a porter in the hall and then took his time getting ready in the bathroom. By the time he emerged, Gaby was up and sipping a cup of coffee from the pot he ordered. She refilled her cup before heading into the bathroom herself. He had to raise an eyebrow--there was most of a cup left in the six-cup pot for him. 

At the breakfast table, Gaby ordered a pot of tea, more in line with her cover. He ordered more coffee for himself, and she stole a cup before the Braithwaites appeared.

“Ellie dear, your caffeine intake might be responsible for your restless sleep,” he observed. She neglected to look at him, her eyes on the countryside, now visible through the large windows. Not that there was much to look at out there. They had either just crossed into Bulgaria or would soon, but the land was flat with only the occasional small town in the distance. 

“Well, maybe when we get home and there isn’t so much going on, I’ll be able to rest properly,” came her somewhat absent reply. That was unlikely since she technically didn’t have a home right now, and British Intelligence was unlikely to let her rest even if their little alliance didn’t last. Napoleon resisted the urge to look at Illya, who was sitting at the table across the aisle and already eating. There was no time to comment to her, as she started waving at Roberta and Mark entering the dining car. 

There was small talk as they settled at the table. They agreed the rocking of the rails made for a soothing sleep; Ellie did feel much recovered from her cold; and that the breakfast menu looked delicious. After their orders were placed, Gaby/Ellie passed Mark his watch, which he seemed glad to have back without noticing anything was off. Napoleon tried to engage Mark in a conversation about his area of study at the university, but had no rejoinder when the man replied that he mostly taught physics. 

“Yes, that usually brings the conversation to a halt,” Mark said dryly when he saw Napoleon’s face. “But if I lead off with the fact that I work mostly in ballistics, people get the idea that I’m some sort of warmonger. Really it’s just a fascinating area of study, and while that’s where my research is focused, what I teach is much more general.”

“I imagine it’s easier to get your research funded than some other areas of study.” The enemy’s interest in these two was becoming more clear now. Mark made a little grimace at this remark.

“Private companies are more than willing to fund me, but they also want proprietary status on any new innovations. If I was interested in money, I could probably just go work in development for a weapons manufacturer, but it doesn’t interest me. I really prefer the academic environment.”

“I don’t have any idea what that’s like,” Napoleon admitted. “How do you find it?” One side of Mark’s lips quirked up.

“I’m afraid you’ll find me terribly sentimental, but I have a passion for both the topic and for watching students absorb it. There is nothing quite like watching someone go from utter ignorance and maybe confusion, to mastery. It gets you through the drudgery of exams and vagaries of university politics. Have you ever tried to teach something, Ford?”

“Does showing my fellow Army men a better way to make hospital corners count?” 

When the breakfast dishes were cleared and they were lingering over yet more tea, Napoleon produced a deck of cards from his pocket. Any kind of competition was excellent for illuminating the character of a mark. Cards weren’t as fun as a game of tennis or cricket or even a good old battle of wits, but they were very portable. And it was easy to affect the outcome of some hands by stacking the deck and potentially learn even more. They started a lively game of whist as the landscape outside got more rugged, the train approaching the Balkan Mountains.

After a few rounds of cards, Napoleon was sure of several things. One, Roberta had a near-photographic memory. Of all of them, she was the only one who never asked to review the previous trick. Her errors decreased and she took more tricks as each game progressed. Two, Mark had an excellent head for strategy and knew precisely when to follow the typical one--and when to play against the expected. Three, he and Gaby needed to play a lot more cards together before they tried this strategy on someone else. Carrying on a conversation and counting cards took plenty of concentration, so he doubted anyone would notice, but they weren’t playing like a couple. He also needed to teach her to stack a deck, as he couldn’t do it for every hand he dealt without looking suspicious. 

The marks didn’t seem like sore losers either, although it was hard to be certain when they were winning twice as many games as they lost. While he managed the game and made mental observations, Gaby managed to gracefully steer the conversation around to poke at potential political leanings. He managed to learn nothing from that other than an inordinate amount of detail on the Scottish Nationalist movement and Roberta’s summarization that “both sides had their points.” Between that and all the games they were losing, it was a relief to pull into Sofia and have to deal with conductors and customs and watch the come and go of the station outside the windows.

As the train pulled out of Sofia on schedule, it was already time for luncheon. The dining car was much fuller and louder now, with additional passengers having boarded the train. Afterwards, Roberta confessed she had a headache, and the Braithwaites excused themselves to have a lie-down in their sleeper.

Napoleon wasn’t opposed to a siesta and he expected Gaby wouldn’t be either. That plan was stymied by the enormous Russian sprawled on their bed with his surveillance gear. Napoleon considered the intrusion but surmised it was probably easier for Illya to listen here than in his sleeper, which must seem like a tiny cage to the large and restless man. This was a lovely train but even he had to be careful in the doorways; to a giant like Illya, it probably felt very constricting. Gaby had no reaction to Illya but to flop face-down next to him. Illya stiffened as she did so, like he didn’t expect it and didn’t know how to respond. After a moment he chose the safe route, and sat up to dig in his pocket and hand Napoleon eleven bugs. Napoleon accepted them without comment, dumping them into his bag in the closet before taking the chair.

“None for me?” Peril asked, surprised.

“I figure we’ll have fewer arguments about what Gaby and I are or are not doing in that big bed if you can listen in,” he replied. Illya glared at him, but any further response was cut off by a groan from Gaby.

“Please, don’t even start, you two. I need one of you to tell me you have a brilliant angle to use when recruiting our marks for UNCLE, because I have nothing.”

He traded a look with Peril then, his expression making it clear the other man had no ideas either.

“Is difficult,” Illya said. “With Westerners. I have only asked comrades to join cause before this.” 

Gaby rolled over onto her back, propping herself up with her arms behind her, legs crossed, and looked at Napoleon expectantly. 

“What?” he asked, annoyed. “You both know how I was shanghaied into joining up. I doubt either of them have a criminal past we can capitalize on. And neither of them exactly want to escape Scotland, so I doubt Gaby’s experience is helpful either.” 

“We should be methodical about this. Make list of everything we’ve learned so far.” Illya suggested. Napoleon got up and dug a couple pads of paper out of his case and threw them on the bed between his partners.

“Great. You two get started on that, and I’ll fill in anything you missed when I get back. I need a drink.” He headed for the door.

“Cowboy--” The door shut behind him in the middle of Peril’s protest. Either he’d come back and they’d have done all the tedious work, or they’d take the opportunity to finally consummate all that sexual tension. Either way, he needed some time to think without having to marinate in it himself.

He meant to sort out his feelings about the Braithwaites, but spent more time at the bar thinking about how Illya was still trying too hard to be casual around Gaby, and failing. How Gaby had arranged herself on the bed--he could imagine the look of disgust they shot each other at his abrupt exit, and how easily it could have turned into a kiss. And why did they have to act like that around him, anyway? They held it together in the public areas of the train. Illya, he was certain, was smitten. Gaby might still be trying to lull them into trusting her--the whole thing an act to ensare Illya and endear her to Napoleon. 

Leaving the room hadn’t been helpful as far as setting aside thoughts of his companions, but it did give him an idea. Approaching multiple marks usually meant approaching one at a time, but he had no idea if they should start with Mark or Roberta. The next move, he surmised, was to learn more details on how they felt about each other. 

When he returned to the room over an hour later, he made sure to listen outside the door first. Hearing nothing, he slid the door open as quietly as possible. He was disappointed to find them both still completely dressed and staring at the windows of the car, now papered with lined yellow pages from his notepads. Lists. He sighed and joined them in reading over the material, adding little details here and there, but they had done quite a thorough job.

“We’re still unclear how Roberta feels about teaching,” Gaby summarized for him. Napoleon shared his own insight.

“You should split them up,” Illya observed. 

“Yes, thank you Peril,” Napoleon said dryly. “Gaby, I think Roberta will like to retire from the busy lounge early tonight. Can you ask her back here for girl talk or something? Peril can linger in the lounge car and join my conversation with Mark and listen to the recording from his bugs in here afterward.”

“You are asking for help with mark, Cowboy?” Illya asked, smirking. Napoleon lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug.

“Mark needs to trust Ford Donaghue, which means I have to be likeable. I may be exceedingly appealing to everyone I meet, but it can handicap intelligence gathering. You, as a random train passenger, can feel free to insult or challenge the man instead.” Gaby shook her head at them and headed for the bath. Illya nodded thoughtfully at this admission, and they began to work out the broad strokes of his cover while she was occupied.

When Gaby emerged dressed for dinner, both men took a moment to appreciate the sight. Illya’s mouth actually gaped a little, and it was all Napoleon could do not to shake his head as he headed for the bath himself. 

Once he changed from his day suit to something more appropriate for evening, Illya had departed. Ford escorted Ellie to the lounge, where Mark and Roberta were already seated in the quietest corner the car afforded. There was more conductors and customs in Belgrade, and it took longer this time. The UDBA had to make sure no one was trying to flee the Iron Curtain, after all. Napoleon caught Gaby fretting her thumb along the seam of her dress, although she gave no other outward sign of nerves. He caught her hand and kissed it casually, and then held it in his. One seedy looking character was dragged off the train, screaming about how his papers were in order, but otherwise there were no issues. At least the dining car reopened immediately as the train pulled away from the station. 

Napoleon kept dinner conversation light, telling a story about a misadventure he had in the river near Belgrade and using that as an excuse to ask after any future travel plans. Afterward, it was easy for Gaby to convince Roberta they should go paint their nails in the sleeper car, and he and Mark moved to the lounge car. Napoleon produced a couple fine cigars. They enjoyed them with some perfectly adequate whiskey and discussed some modifications Mark had to his firearms for hunting grouse. 

“Excuse me,” Illya said. “Did I over hear that you’re a firearm specialist?” Napoleon had to try not to stare. The man had adopted a nasal American accent, pronounced all his r’s, and _used an article._

“More or less,” Mark replied before explaining. 

“And are you happy with your current employment?”

“Can I ask why you want to know?”

“Oh, pardon me, I am being rude. I am Henry Anderson, and I represent a think tank. Ballistics is one of our primary interests.” They made introductions, and Mark interrupted the pitch before Illya could continue.

“I’m actually very happy, and certainly have no desire to relocate to America.”

“That is too bad. I saw you at dinner; I must say that your wife is lovely. I’m sure you’d prefer to give her a bigger house, a nicer car--and an earlier retirement.” Mark’s body language started to change with that, growing more closed and tense, but his voice stayed light.

“She’s doing just fine earning her own retirement.”

“It could always be better, no?” Illya asked. “What would your perfect situation look like?” 

“This is so very typical of your countrymen,” Mark said to Napoleon. “Always seeking perfection at the detriment of their happiness. Would you believe this is the second time I’ve been approached thusly on this trip?”

“You can blame our need to think ourselves extraordinary,” Napoleon said. “Settling for ‘good enough’ would mean admitting to ourselves that we’re only average. But it could be worse--we could be Russian!” Napoleon watched as Illya started to grind his teeth at the insult.

“Actually, the other man was Russian,” Mark said absently. “Everyone is looking for something to give them an edge right now. Look,” he said, turning back to ‘Henry’, “Perfection would still be somewhere in Europe, and not anywhere along the Curtain. It would be two offers, and my wife and I would have to be equally excited about them.”

When Napoleon returned to the sleeper car, Gaby was alone and already in her pajamas, reading in the chair again. 

“Were your sleeping problems due to still being within the Iron Curtain, or do you anticipate them tonight as well?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a vodka, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied, turning a page. He grabbed two glasses from the cabinet in the bathroom and a bottle he stashed in the closet earlier. He handed them to her while he brought the table down and sat on the bed, toeing off his shoes. She poured them both a measure, careful to time it with the motion of the train. She closed her eyes as she swallowed, and he watched her throat move and the tension she held drain away.

“Roberta is not as enthusiastic about teaching as Mark,” she said. “I think she’s the one to approach first. I can appeal to her desire for new challenges. She likes Scotland, but for the winters. How did you do?” 

“I think that you’re right. We didn’t get much from Mark, to be honest. Remind me to tease Peril about that later. We’ll have to hope that Roberta is open to a change and that they trust us enough to listen.” Gaby made a humming sound, and reached for the bottle. Napoleon grimaced but held out his glass. 

“Illya stopped by just before you came in. I told him to ask Waverly about the possibility of working for UNCLE part time and still letting them teach somewhere sunny.” She drained her glass and refilled it again.

“That’ll take time to set up,” Napoleon observed. “We won’t be able to tell them it’s part of the offer before this trip is over.” 

They sat for a bit in companionable silence, working on the bottle. Napoleon was tired of thinking. Cracking the Braithwaites might well be impossible. Maybe Waverly’s men had turned up the other microdot, and they could determine exactly how much danger the engineers were in--and how to protect them without ruining their lives. The bottle was close to half empty before Gaby’s eyelids started to flutter closed.

“You’re not going to want to sleep in that chair,” he said, nudging her leg with his foot. 

“Illya would put me to bed,” she grumbled, standing. He stood too, capping the bottle and putting the table back up so she could get into bed. 

“Illya,” he answered, “has feelings for you that are far more tender than mine.”

“You’re such a charmer, Napoleon.” She turned down the bed as he ducked into the bath to change and brush his teeth. She was sitting up in the bed when he moved back into the room.   
“How tender are his feelings, do you think?”

“Gaby, this is not a slumber party. I don’t want to talk about Peril; I want to go to sleep. He’s probably listening, anyway.” He glimpsed the little moue she made just before he turned off the lights.

“What’s a slumber party? It’s time for his check in right now; he’s on the phone. And don’t pretend you don’t care, Napoleon. Leaving us alone this afternoon was even more transparent than when you let Illya check my tracker in Rome.” 

“It’s when you invite a bunch of girlfriends over your house to for the night, and stay up talking about boys. And maybe I was just sick of you both,” he said. “These are close quarters, after all.”

“You always suggest an insulting alternative when you’re dissembling, you know.”

“You know ‘dissemble’ in English but not slumber party? What has Waverley been teaching you the last two years?”

“I’m just going to assume I’m right, since you won’t say otherwise.” 

“I suppose it depends on your intentions,” he admitted. He hadn’t meant to say that. Either the vodka or the enforced intimacy of the sleeper was getting to him. Neither normally affected his ability to hold his tongue, and he had to wonder when he had relaxed his guard. Probably around the time he stood on a balcony in Rome, burning a computer disk. A long silence followed his reply.

“What do you suspect me of, exactly?” she asked eventually. He needed to shut this down. You shouldn’t let your allies know when you find them suspicious.

“Let’s just say, I think you’re capable of almost anything.”

“Can I say anything to convince you that I’ve been on the level since Rome?”

“Words are cheap, my dear.”

“You would think so,” she replied, her voice irritated.


	3. Day 3 - Venice-Milan-Lausanne

Morning came all too early. Illya shook him awake. 

“What, Peril? Is something wrong?” Napoleon looked around. Fortunately Gaby was curled up on the other side of the bed, as far as she could get from him. If Illya had found them snuggled, he probably would have been woken by fists instead of one cautious hand. 

“Shh!” The other man beckoned him into the corridor, which was just barely illuminated by the dawn stretching over the landscape. They had left the mountains behind as the train headed for Venice. Napoleon didn’t miss the glare when Peril noticed he was only wearing pajama pants. 

“It’s too early for this,” Napoleon complained, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Don’t you sleep?” The floor was chilly under his bare feet.

“I just wanted to give you update before anyone else awakens. The other microdot has not been found. Waverly will work on positions for both the marks, but he says get on with the approach.” 

“Inspiring leadership there, Waverly,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll tell Gaby to create an opening with Roberta. Anything else?”

“Agents will be waiting in Paris to meet us all,” Illya continued. “Theory is, don’t be where your enemies expect you.” Napoleon nodded. That gave them slightly more than 24 hours to convince the Braithwaites to change their travel plans. He started to turn back to the door. “Cowboy…”

“Yes, Peril?” 

“Our marks are… unusual. Is never easy, to convince someone to do something for you. But usually people want something. What if they’re playing hard to get on purpose? What if UNCLE was supposed to find microdot? It could all be ruse, to learn about UNCLE… or us.” Napoleon had been wondering this himself, but he shrugged.

“If that was the case I don’t know that we’d do anything different. They need to be in custody either way, and I’m certainly not going to tell them all about UNCLE or hand over our dossiers in order to convince them.”

When he crawled back into bed, Gaby grumbled something uncharitable and curled even tighter on herself. Unfortunately, sleep eluded him, and after twenty minutes he got back up and started cleaning up. The bird bath in the sink was not very refreshing, and although he liked the train he was looking forward to a hot shower when they got to Paris. 

Light was peeking around the window shade when he finished dressing, but Gaby remained still under the covers. He ordered the coffee and sat there sipping it when it arrived. Eventually the aroma roused his partner, and she took a cup of coffee into the bath without a word. He couldn’t tell if this was her usual morning attitude or if she was annoyed about their conversation.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. He repeated Peril’s briefing as she guzzled another cup of coffee.

“Honestly, I’m not sure which of you is more paranoid,” she said acidly. She drained the coffee pot into her cup. “If they were working us, I’d expect them to be asking us more questions-- probing our covers. They’ve taken everything we said at face value.”

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s just something to be aware of. Are you armed?” She gave him a dirty look, but lifted the hem of her dress enough to give him a glimpse of her thigh holster. “Good. If you ask Roberta back here again, Peril will back you up.” 

“You’re afraid to leave me alone with her now.” It wasn’t a question. “Yesterday it was fine.” It was true. Maybe she was getting her hooks into him, despite his caution.

“Yesterday, Roberta hadn’t yet set herself up as our best hope. And if they’re working against UNCLE, they’re on a clock. Just like us.” 

Breakfast was unremarkable. Mark wanted to play cards again afterward and Napoleon found himself wondering if it was some sort of power play--not that calm and relaxed Mark did anything unsportsmanlike. As wins mounted up for them, there was no bragging, no teasing. On the other hand, Gaby used the game and their mounting losses to showcase her very real irritation with him. It was clever; she got to blow off steam and at the same time was creating an excuse to drag Roberta off again. 

When the ladies excused themselves, Mark begged off further conversation and sat in the lounge with a book. Napoleon sat at the other end of the car, smoked another cigar, and watched. The inaction was maddening since he had little to do but watch Mark and to hope Gaby was making some progress. The snake oil peddler from the first night was back again. Napoleon let him prattle on, the conversation a decent cover without taking much attention. It probably wasn’t as long as it felt before Illya appeared in the lounge car, taking a seat opposite from where he was sitting. 

Gaby was in the bath when Napoleon got back to the sleeper and he waited impatiently for her, looking out the window. The train was already starting to slow for the approach to Venice. 

“Well?” he asked when she emerged.

“She’s thinking it over. She wanted to talk to Mark. It went as well as it could have, really.” 

“That’s it? You didn’t have to adjust covers or anything? There’s nothing I need to know?”

“No, she seemed quite happy to believe that I am a former code breaker who went to work for a covert government organization. The hard part was persuading her that working for a shadowy operation wasn’t actually scary.”

“The danger and the intrigue is supposed to be part of the attraction.” Gaby snorted at this.

“For Mark, it might work out that way. Roberta said he reads a lot of Fleming. For her, I described how I had all the best computers to work with and all the best colleagues to collaborate with.” She was a good deal shorter than he but still somehow managed to look down her nose as she said this. 

“My dear Miss Teller, I’m touched that you think so highly of me.” Napoleon made sure he had his tickets and his passport. “Why don’t you use Peril’s gear there to listen in to the bug on Mark’s watch. I’ll stretch my legs at the station and make sure they don’t bolt.”

“Do you really think they would run? Now?” she asked. 

“I’ve found when someone reads Fleming, they can get all sorts of ideas. Crack the window, and if you hear anything, you can hang this red handkerchief out of it, to signal me.”

In the end, the Braithwaites stayed on the train and Napoleon spent about an hour on the train platform, watching people come and go and pretending the smell of the canals was quaint. When the whistle sounded, he boarded the train and found Gaby and the Braithwaites already seated in the dining car as the train staff prepared for luncheon service. 

Afterwards, the Braithwaites headed to their sleeper. Illya was already draped across the bed, eyes closed, when he and Gaby got back to theirs. He stirred sleepily as Napoleon threw himself down on the bed beside him. It was petty and vindictive, but it would be better than having to watch them not-quite-flirt for the rest of the afternoon. Gaby glared at him, and Napoleon smiled as sweetly as he could at her. She flopped into the chair and he put on the headphones to listen as Illya looked between them, confused by their silent interaction. 

“You’ve been offered a job?” Mark’s voice came through the headphones a little distorted, intonation hard to hear but the words clear enough. “Ellie wants to hire you herself?”

“No, she said she would make a recommendation, but that I’d be a shoo-in. They’ve had trouble finding someone with my skill set. What?” Napoleon had to strain to hear Roberta over the train. He cranked the volume up on the receiver. 

“It’s just this is the third time one of us has been approached with a job offer on this trip. I know the economy is doing well, but people don’t usually just hand out jobs.”

“ _I_ haven’t gotten any other offers. And it sounds a lot more interesting to me than pounding the conductivity of different materials into freshman brains for the dozenth time.” 

“She didn’t mention this to you until today? Did she say why?”

“That’s the interesting part! Apparently it’s some sort of international peacekeeping agency. But she wouldn’t tell me the name.”

“Peacekeeping agencies don’t have ballistics departments, darling. And they’re not usually secret.”

“Well, she didn’t say they had something for you for sure. Just that they might have something. And that if we’re considering it, she could get them to host us in Paris for a couple nights. You know I wanted to do that anyway.”

“Yes, and we decided not this trip because it would be cutting it too close to the start of the semester. Which is another thing--even if this job isn’t too good to be true, we’d be leaving the department high and dry for three classes. That kind of departure can get you blacklisted in university system. Somehow I doubt the ‘peacekeeping’ will wait until spring.” There was a long silence.

“So I should tell her no, not even a visit?” There was an affirmative answer and then Mark excused himself to use the bathroom, claiming lunch wasn’t sitting well. Napoleon took the headphones off and shook his head when his teammates looked at him.

“Mark having any symptoms of indigestion?” Gaby asked innocently. 

“Did you poison the poor man?” Napoleon asked, eyes narrowing. Suddenly he regretted his earlier antics. He would have to watch his plate at dinner. Illya, still lying on the bed next to him, sat up to look at Gaby.

“Nothing so dramatic. It’s just a little something to sideline him for a couple hours. I assume he was the one against a side trip in Paris?” She looked like the cat that got the cream.

“How did you know?” Napoleon couldn’t help himself from asking.

“Something in Roberta’s eyes when I mentioned that we could stop off there. Plus, Mark just strikes me as the type who hates to change plans.”

Gaby’s tactics had the benefit of Roberta coming to dinner unaccompanied. Gaby seemed to have all the answers, so he let her attempt to persuade Roberta. He spent most of the meal watching Gaby’s hands and wondering if he would be able to sleep tonight, lest she take her revenge. He got dragged back into it when Roberta addressed him.

“How do you feel about what your wife does?” she asked. Napoleon took a moment to contemplate Gaby, sipping Earl Grey like an innocent English lass. He decided honesty might just get him out of what it had gotten him into.

“Sometimes I find it disturbing,” he said. Roberta’s eyes went wide. “But she’s really good at what she does. Excellent, in fact. Not everyone can say that. And she gets to use her skills to their best advantage, which is something even fewer can claim. In the end, I’m glad that she didn’t end up anywhere else.”

“Oh, Ford, really?” Gaby asked him, taking his hand.

“Absolutely,” he assured her. “I can’t imagine what a waste it would have been if you stayed where I found you.”

“Your current--organization--is really that much better?” Roberta asked. Gaby nodded. 

“The resources, coworkers, all an improvement,” she confirmed. Roberta looked thoughtful and Napoleon squeezed Gaby’s hand when it looked like she was about to continue. They had to be careful not to overplay it.

“I think I will regret it if I don’t at least check it out,” Roberta said finally. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go let Mark know and get us packed up. If nothing else, I can convince him the food will be an improvement.” Napoleon thought that called for a celebration and had a bottle of champagne at their table in record time.

Illya was in their car but packing up his surveillance case when they entered. 

“Mark has acquiesced to stopover in Paris,” he confirmed for them. “Good job. I will go let Waverly know.” His eyes narrowed, watching Gaby swaying across the room with more than just the motion of the train. 

“Is good thing I poured out vodka from closet,” Illya said. 

“I’m not drunk!” Gaby declared. “I’m happy!” She made her way over to where he stood next to the bed and went up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. She failed to time it with the rocking of the train and ended up falling against him. He caught her, and glaring at Napoleon, lowered her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“It’s just champagne, Peril,” Napoleon said. “You know how quickly it can go to your head, particularly when you spend dinner doing much more talking than eating. It’ll burn off quick.” He made a mental note to get Gaby drinking champagne before the next time he left her alone with Peril. Apparently, it made her much friendlier than vodka. 

“I hope so. We’re still in open, after all.” Illya’s tone held oceans of disappointment. 

“Paranoid!” Gaby said, throwing her hands out as she flopped on her back. “You’re both so paranoid. Am I going to get like that?” Illya looked at Napoleon, confused. He just shooed the other man out of the car.

“I’ll take care of her; go make your phone call.”

“Did he really pour out my vodka?” Gaby asked. Napoleon found the bottle in the bathroom trash.

“Yes, he really did. I’ve half a mind to make him bunk with you tonight, so he suffers the consequences instead of me.” He sat in the chair, eyeing her on the bed. 

“You can try. I wish you luck. Convincing people to do what you want is so tedious,” she groaned, closing her eyes.

“Stealing things is much more straightforward,” Napoleon agreed. “I’m afraid there will be more of this for us, since we were successful even in difficult circumstances.”

“Not wildly so,” she reminded him. “Who knows what Mark will think after Waverly’s other team gets ahold of them.” 

“Well, at least the Braithwaites will be off the street and hopefully off the bad guys’ radar.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Am I going to end up as paranoid as you and Illya?” 

“If you don’t, you might end up dead instead,” he said. 

“That’s cheery, thanks.” 

“You could quit,” he offered.

“I thought you said I was good at what I do,” she said in a small voice.

“Oh you are, my dear. And I am really glad you’re on my side, or our side, or at least not with the Secret Police. If the KGB had any idea what was under their noses for the last two years…” Napoleon shook his head. “There are drawbacks, though. It’s most effective to lie with the truth; you saw that tonight. And the more you do it, the easier it gets. But then all you see is how easy it is to twist things, to have your own needs and desires used against you.”

“Oh. So you’re paranoid _and_ cynical. I think I prefer it when you pretend everything is a game.” He didn’t respond. After a minute, she continued. “Anyway, I can’t quit. I’d be back behind the Wall before I could blink.”

“You could run.”

“If that were easy, I’m sure you would have already done it. Is it me, or does it feel like the train is slowing down?”

“I think trains normally need to take the Alps pretty slow. But you’re right, it does seem like we’ve slowed too much. And we’re not due in Lausanne for an hour at least.” The train slowed even further over the next few minutes. Napoleon was ready to find a conductor when they heard a muffled shout. He was out the door when Roberta came pelting down the corridor. 

“Oh please help!” she cried. He ran past her, towards the engine and her sleeper car. Before he made it into the next car he heard Gaby shove her into their room and tell her to lock herself in their bath. He paused in the vestibule between cars, peeking through the window and pulling out his firearm. It turned out Illya had it well in hand, his arm in a choke hold around another man. A closer look revealed the man was the salesman who had been intermittently harassing them. Gaby caught up as Napoleon moved into the adjacent car. This car was split into two sleeper units with a bathroom in the middle. The bathroom was empty. The first room was a mid-sized sleeper with two beds arranged bunk style on one side, closets and a small sink on the other side. Mark had pressed himself into the bottom bunk next to the door and lunged at him as he came through the opening, but checked himself when he recognized Napoleon. In the corridor, he heard Gaby explaining to the occupants of the other sleeper that her cousin just had too much to drink and they were taking him to bed. Napoleon helped Illya drag the salesman into the Braithwaites’ room. 

“I need your belt, Cowboy,” Illya growled. Napoleon took it off, handing it over before turning to Gaby.

“Ellie dear, why don’t you take Mark to our room? I’ll be along in just a moment.” Mark was apparently stunned because he went with her without comment. 

“You should not leave Gaby alone with them.” Illya said, using Napoleon's belt and his own to strap the man’s wrists to the upper bunk. He used another apparently stolen from Mark’s luggage around the man’s ankles.

“Yes, just catch me up and I’ll go.”

Illya shrugged. “As soon as I got off the phone, another call came through. The engineer said that melting snow had slid to obscure tracks a bit ahead of here, so they would slow down to push through safely. I was coming back when I saw salesman trying to force Roberta and Mark out of car by gunpoint. He is not too tough. I will find out why.”

“Watch your back. If there’s one agent on the train, there may be others.” Napoleon hurried back to his sleeper, but he only found Gaby soothing the Braithwaites. The couple was sitting on the bed, arms around each other. 

“I don’t understand why that man helped us,” Mark was saying. “Henry. And I thought he was American, where did the Russian accent come from? Is he going to hurt that man?” Gaby looked at Napoleon, who made a waffling motion with his hand.

“Oh, well, Henry is a coworker of mine, actually. I did say it was an international organization I worked at.”

“So you’ve all been lying to us. To recruit us? Why? Who was that man?” Gaby looked like she was going to answer, but Napoleon interrupted her by clearing his throat.

“Ellie, dear. Why don’t you go help Henry? If his target proves stubborn, a softer touch might come in handy.” She looked from him to Mark and left the car.

“Listen, Mark. I know you have questions. I’m afraid I don’t have answers for some of them. What I do have I can’t give you just yet. That’s going to be frustrating and scary, but think about what you do know. A man held a gun on you and your wife and tried to make you do something. Yes, Ellie and I have not been telling you the whole truth, but you are in danger--and we can protect you.” 

“We don’t know that you’re not as bad as, or worse than--whoever that was.” 

“I think that’s a little unfair,” Napoleon said. “All we’ve done is try to befriend you, even if we were forced to do so under pretense. We haven’t threatened you. And I swear, all we want to do is to help you.” It sounded false even to his own ears, and he knew he was telling the truth. They might have to force the Braithwaites off the train by gunpoint, if the couple wouldn’t cooperate. If it came to that, their lives might be saved, but they wouldn’t be lending their skills to UNCLE, an agency that had apparently already garnered a formidable enemy.

They sat there in silence for a bit. He wanted them to have time to think it over. Although time might be in short supply. The train was speeding up slightly now, and looking at his watch, it seemed they would end up in Lausanne about an hour late. Gaby came back before long, clutching a bottle of vodka to her chest. Napoleon started to ask her what they had learned, but she held up a finger and set about distributing a clean glass to each of them. Then they all got a hefty splash from the bottle. She drank hers without looking anyone in the eye and collapsed in the chair.

“He had a cyanide capsule hidden under a cap on one of his teeth. I didn’t think those were real.”

“Oh, they are. I’m surprised Peril didn’t catch it. Did he say anything at all?”

“He said, ‘You’ll never stop THRUSH!’”

“Well,” Napoleon said after a moment. “That seems ominous.”


	4. Day 4 - Lausanne to points unknown

“Do we know where his accommodations are?” Napoleon asked. Gaby nodded, giving him the car information. He took the bottle, gave everyone another splash, and headed out of the car with it. Gaby followed him into the corridor.

“What--” He cut her off.

“I told the Braithwaites nothing, other than they’re obviously in danger and we will help them. See if you can get them to pack one suitcase from their car and then get them back to ours. Do the same with our things. Encourage them to leave behind as much as possible. We may have to move quickly.”

“Why do I get packing duty?” she asked.

“They like you better,” Napoleon said. “Keep on your guard.” She smiled. 

“You realized you just admitted I’m more likeable that you are, right?”

“I know; you’ll never let me live that down.”

“Normally I wouldn’t be susceptible to flattery like that, but I’m not sure that searching is less tedious than packing.” 

Illya was already sweeping the salesman’s room for bugs when Napoleon let himself in. 

“Room is clean of surveillance. We need to get off this train.”

“Agreed. In Lausanne we can steal a boat and head for Geneva.” Illya shook his head. 

“Geneva is too big, too close. We should steal car, head for France. UNCLE has small station in Lyon.” 

“That’s reasonable. Let me finish searching here while you get packed up. We’re going to be there soon and need to be ready to move. Meet back at our car.” 

Sleeper cars have a lot fewer nooks and crannies than a hotel room, so it didn’t take long to search. Unfortunately he didn’t come up with much. He found what looked like a coded log and a small hand held camera. After a moment’s deliberation he also took the man’s suitcase. It was filled with pamphlets for products, but some of them were folded different from others. Maybe they’d be lucky and find more microdots. 

Back in his own sleeper, Gaby and Illya were arguing. 

“Rifle is mine, so I should cover your exit.” Illya said. 

“You and Ford are larger than me, Henry,” Gaby said in exasperation. “You’ll do better as human shields and are better at hand-to-hand. Besides, I am smaller and less likely to be noticed. If we really think there are other agents on the train or might be waiting at the station, this is the best way to protect our friends.”

“You’re really inspiring a lot of confidence, here,” Mark said. “You’ve done this before, right?”

“They just both really like the rifle,” Napoleon said. “I expect they’ll be naming it soon. But she has a point, Peril.” Illya looked annoyed, but Gaby looked pleased. They worked out where to rendezvous in Lausanne, and Gaby departed the crowded sleeper.

“I don’t like this, Cowboy,” Illya said after she had left.

“Who would? We have a deplorable deficit of information right now,” he responded lightly.

“You know what I mean,” Peril replied. Napoleon sighed, looking meaningfully at the couple now fidgeting nervously on the bed. 

“Just focus on the objective for now, okay?”

At one in the morning, there weren’t many people on the train platform. A conductor to meet the train and one single person ready to board waited as the train pulled into the station. 

They waited until the whistle sounded to climb off the train, single file, Peril leading the way. Napoleon felt like his head was on a swivel, trying to watch everywhere at once. He didn’t really expect trouble, but it was prudent to be cautious, and the train station had lots of dark corners to hide in. 

Too many, it turned out. He was looking the wrong way when he heard the suppressed retort of a rifle. He heard Roberta gasp and followed her eyeline to see a man had tumbled down from a perch in the rafters. He had a rifle of his own, but wouldn’t be using it as he was now missing the top part of his head. Illya started moving faster toward the exit. Napoleon followed suit, hurrying the Braithwaites in front of him. A second retort sounded and he turned around. Another body now lay on the train platform, and he caught a glimpse of Gaby perched on her knees, on top of the train, even as it was pulling out of the station. She quickly dropped out of sight, and Napoleon turned his focus back to the Braithwaites. 

Not much more than twenty minutes later, the four of them stood in the shadow of the Lausanne Cathedral. Illya was fidgeting and Napoleon was wishing it was day so he could appreciate the church more properly. It could be worse, even as Illya grew more impatient. The Braithwaites had apparently been stunned into quiet cooperation with the appearance of the armed men at the train station. It was the best outcome, and he was glad they were smart enough to know arguing wasn’t an option and self-possessed enough not to fall to pieces. You never really knew how people would react in an emergency. Take Illya, who was apparently very distressed at being separated from Gaby. He was keeping it together, for now, but Napoleon recognized Peril’s ticks. He might have been worried too, if she hadn’t reacted so calmly the night he showed up to extract her from East Berlin. 

He had a moment of silent thanks when she showed up only a few minutes later, driving a delivery van. He had been a little worried they might all have to cram into a small car, depending on what she could find. He helped Roberta climb into the back and then passed their luggage to Mark while Illya tried to convince Gaby he should drive. He lost that argument too, and grudgingly climbed into the shotgun position as Napoleon got into the back and closed the doors.

The Braithwaites settled down on the passenger side of the van, and Napoleon sat with his back to Gaby’s seat where he could watch their tail out the back windows. He didn’t see anything as she headed north out of the city, taking the long way around to Lyon. 

It proved to be a good idea; the one man on duty at the tiny French border crossing couldn’t have stopped them if he wanted. Fortunately, he was more than willing to believe Gaby’s tale about how their Swiss lodging was overrun with bedbugs. It was a good a reason as any to be driving into France in the middle of the night, and even saying the word caused Illya to start scratching. They were waved through with no problems. 

It was a long and dark drive through the Jura mountains, and Gaby took it rather slow, watching carefully for wildlife. It would be impossible for anyone to follow without them knowing. As the night crept on, they all slowly relaxed. Roberta fell asleep with her head pillowed on Mark’s lap, and he snoozed with his head against the van’s side. Even Illya was nodding off as they finally made Oyonnax.

“Peril, why don’t you stretch out here in the back?” Napoleon suggested quietly when Gaby pulled over for gas. “I’ll keep her awake.” 

“I am alright, Cowboy. Someone needs to watch our marks.” Illya’s voice was even deeper than usual, thick with sleep. 

“They’re sleeping, Illya. They are frightened and exhausted and I’m sure they aren’t spies. And I’ll keep an eye on them too. I know you couldn’t have gotten much sleep last night and at least one of us should be rested.” Illya turned around, looking over the back of his seat at the Braithwaites, who hadn’t stirred when they pulled over. He hesitated for a moment longer, and then slid out of the van. 

It wasn’t quite 3 AM and the gas station wasn’t open, so Napoleon stretched his legs by walking up to the building and sliding some money into the mail slot next to the door. Returning to the van, he noticed Gaby’s skirt had a new dark spot. He grabbed his small bag from the back, and had to wave at Peril to lie back down before closing the doors. Then he dropped swiftly to his knees at Gaby’s feet, hiking up her skirt before she could react. She glared at him as she continued to work the gas pump, but didn’t stop him from examining the cut he found on her leg. It was about six inches long, shallow but had bled messily. 

“When did this happen?” he asked.

“When I lept from a moving train,” she replied. “Scraped it open somehow on the way down.” 

“That’s because getting on the top of a moving train is stupid and dangerous,” he said, digging in his bag. There was no vodka in there but he did have a flask of scotch, which he offered to her. She took a swig, grimaced, and handed it back. He handed her a flashlight, and positioned her hand so he could see what he was doing. 

“It was barely moving. And it was the best sightlines I could get in that situation,” she said. “I figured it was worth it.” He snorted.

“Would it have been worth it if you had broken your leg or neck on the way down? Have you been reading Fleming too? Why didn’t you clean this out?”

“If I stopped to do that I would have been late meeting up with you--ah!” She cursed in German as he poured scotch over her leg, too low and throaty for him to catch it. “And I didn’t want to worry Illya or leave you in the open. By the time I got to you, it had stopped bleeding, mostly.” 

“I think we could have waited five more minutes, Gaby. You have to take care of yourself, or you won’t be good to anyone.” He cleaned the gash as gently as he could, but it took some time. She was done with the gas pump long before he was done with her. She stood there, tense under his hands and trying not to flinch. 

“Aren’t you done yet?” she grumbled. He didn’t bother to look up at her.

“There’s gravel in your scabs,” he replied, annoyed. “This is what happens when you don’t take care of something right away. If I don’t clean it out, you’ll end up with an infection and probably a nasty scar when the gravel pushes its way out.” She sighed and clenched her teeth. The wound started to bleed again before he was done, but at least that would flush out any smaller bits of dirt. He sacrificed his only clean undershirt to staunch the bleeding and bandage the wound. When he stood, he went to hand Gaby the flask again, only to see her eyes were closed and she was shaking slightly. They really needed to get going, but… he put his bag back on the ground, slid his arms around her shoulders, and tucked her head against his chest.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was soft and muffled against his shirt. After a moment her arms slid under his jacket to wrap around his waist.

“First time you shot to kill, yes?” he asked. “Your leg probably stings like hell, but I promise it’s not pain you deserve. Try not to enjoy your own suffering.”

“You seem to like it,” she said, still into his shirt. “Does seeing someone vulnerable make you feel superior, or do you just like knowing where there’s a weakness you can exploit?”

“Now who’s cynical?” he asked. “You say that like I’ve never done anything nice for you.” 

“You’re the one who doesn’t trust me,” she replied, and his heart ached a little at the pain in her voice. He drew back a little, tilting her head so he could look her in the eyes.

“So you think the best thing to do is to follow my example, then?” He kept his tone light, wry. “Besides, that was before. You saved my life tonight. Maybe more than once.” She pulled away, shaking her head.

“You’re right. I don’t want to be anything like you, if that’s what it takes for you to trust someone.”

“Well, it’s hardly the only thing,” he said, playing up his indignation. “But your own fashion sense is deplorable and you apparently have terrible taste in men. I mean, you had me to yourself for two nights and failed to take advantage. Clearly your judgement is suspect.” She barked out a laugh. 

“That must be true, since I signed up for this job. And I knew I was your type. Get in the van, Napoleon.” Something in the way she said his name--his first name, no less--let him know they were okay. 

The rest of the drive was blessedly uneventful, and it was still dark when they arrived at the address of the UNCLE safehouse in Lyon. They were expected, Illya having called in to Waverly back in Lausanne. Mark and Roberta got first priority in the bathrooms and Napoleon settled down on a couch in the main room to wait his turn. The next thing he knew, full sun was streaming in the windows and Waverly was speaking to him.

“Time for your debrief, Solo.” 

“Whatever the Russian said,” Napoleon yawned, stretching. The house was quiet around him. “Braithwaites are gone?”

“Yes, we moved them off site as soon as possible. Kuryakin is cleaning up and Teller is asleep. Her insomnia persists, I take it?” Napoleon gave a half-hearted shrug.

“It wasn’t an issue.” 

“Kuryakin said it was your idea to let Teller cover your departure from the train,” Waverly said. Napoleon snorted.

“It was her idea, but yes, I supported it. It had several tactical advantages.”

“And she killed two men,” Waverly continued.

“And she saved four lives,” Napoleon countered. Waverly smiled at that, which was disconcerting. 

“I’m so glad you three are working so well together. Get cleaned up; your transport for London leaves in an hour.”

EPILOGUE

Napoleon spent three days at base in London, writing reports and being fully debriefed. UNCLE was worse than the CIA when it came to paperwork, and there were two separate missions to cover. That was followed by a very annoying psych evaluation, during which the doctor told him using humor as an avoidance mechanism was maladaptive. He didn’t see the others the entire time, as debriefing protocol dictated. It was thoroughly boring to recap Istanbul and everything since over and over. At last, he was shown into Waverly’s office. Napoleon tried not to be disappointed when he noticed the tea service on the desk held only two cups.

“Thank you for all your hard work, Solo. The Braithwaites have been thoroughly vetted, and they are being resettled abroad. Mark is currently considering early retirement; he remains quite suspicious of our goals. For now. However, Roberta has agreed to work for us, contingent on establishing a correspondence with Agent Teller.”

“I’m a bit surprised that she wants anything to do with Gaby after all that happened. But then Ms. Teller is quite amiable.”

“That’s not how you described her in your report, Solo. You said she was reckless and her decisions were questionable.”

“My report said that she took risks and that she put the mission before her personal safety, and therefore it would be best she continues to work with a team until she gains more experience.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’ll be keeping you all together, for now. After a well-deserved rest, of course. We’ll need our agents all to be on top form as we deal with THRUSH.” 

“Yes, about that. THRUSH is what, exactly?” Waverly shook his head. 

“We don’t know much yet. We’ve still failed to turn up any additional microdots, and all the trails in Istanbul have gone cold. We know they’re a covert organization of some sort. Their aims remain a mystery, as do their size and potential resources. Their methods indicate a certain amount of exactitude, if an utter disregard for human life.”

“Sounds like fun,” Napoleon said. Waverly didn’t miss the sarcasm. 

A week’s rest was the most time he had to himself in years and in one of his favorite cities too. He headed out of the non-descript building that housed UNCLE’s headquarters, intent on scaring up some theater tickets for the week, and then maybe a date or two.

He promptly ran into Peril and Gaby standing awkwardly on the sidewalk. Gaby looked frustrated when he approached, but Illya seemed faintly relieved.

“Cowboy,” Illya greeted him. “Do you know of modest hotel nearby?” Napoleon smiled. He was going to buy them all the champagne they could drink.

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in Napoleon's history with treacherous brunettes? Read my prequel fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4941469


End file.
